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His words might be considered sweet, maybe, if things were different. But, seeing as how things were what they were, I didn’t take them quite like that.
“Why? Just go home, Zander.” Okay, maybe not home home, since he’d relocated here with us and a few of my father’s chosen men, but this was our home for now, so… “If something happens to me, my father will never know you were here, because I was the one who snuck out. I—”
He took a step towards me, shutting me up by whispering lowly, “I’m not going anywhere.” There was a pause, and at first I thought it was because he wanted his words to sink in, but it must’ve been because he was struggling to remember my new name, for he added, “Josefina.”
Staring into his eyes, I was struck with something. A strange feeling. Maybe it was the way his green eyes reflected the neon lights behind me, but a heat crept up my face, almost like my body was reacting to his being so near—but that was just stupid, wasn’t it? He was my father’s, not mine. It’d be dumber than dumb to catch anything for him.
“Fine,” I eventually relented. “But don’t cramp my style.”
His gaze dipped low, and it was then I remembered what I was wearing. Suddenly, the heat that had crept up my neck and face flushed harder. “Oh, I definitely won’t do that, though I make no promises if guys get handsy with you.”
A part of me wanted to snap at him and say he wasn’t my boyfriend, therefore he shouldn’t care if anyone got handsy with me—but a bigger part of me was thankful. The only person I wanted touching me was… well, no one right now, but I wanted to get to that point. I wanted to be able to close my eyes and let a stranger touch me without freaking out.
Baby steps.
I didn’t say anything else to him. Together, we walked to the bouncers of the club. They checked our I.D.s before letting us in—no entry charge, which I thought was weird, but then again, they probably wanted anyone over twenty-one inside because they made their money from the alcohol. A lot of places did.
It was… bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside, full of people dancing and drinking, generally having a good time with life. The bar was to the left, while it looked like the restrooms were more towards the back, around the stage, where the DJ was with his giant speakers. The dance floor was situated directly before those speakers, everybody there acting like they had not a care in the world, grinding on each other like they were furiously trying to get off with clothes on.
The air smelled of sweat, and it was hotter than hell. As I stood near the doors, taking the whole place in, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be one of those people, to not care who was dancing with you as long as it felt good.
“Come on,” Zander spoke, pointing to a set of metal stairs near us. “It looks like it goes up to a landing. I bet the view’s better up there.”
While I didn’t really appreciate the fact that he was suggesting anything to me, I also knew he was probably right. The stairs looked like they led to an overlook of sorts, where you could gaze at the entire club.
I pushed past him, and I was the first to head up the stairs. Tonight was all about getting the lay of the land, getting to know each club. If this was the place to be, I wanted to know about it.
Up the stairs we went, Zander following closely behind me. We emerged onto a landing, where a bunch of circular tables sat, along with their chairs. Some were occupied by groups of good-looking, young men and women, while some were empty. They had drinks, and they barely looked at me as I walked by.
I didn’t pay them much mind; I went straight for the railing on the other side of the area, gloved fingers curling around the metal. It was just as I thought; you could see the entire club from up here. It was a great place to watch, to stalk—if you were up for that sort of thing.
Zander moved to stand next to me, and he was careful not to let his hand or his arm touch me as he took up the same position I did. His eyes surveyed the place once, and then they were back on me. I pretended not to notice.
Why was Zander being this way? I could take care of myself, should anything happen. Maybe I needed to have a word with my father, tell him I was sick of having Zander as my shadow.
It wasn’t like Zander really cared. I was just the boss’s daughter. That’s all I would ever be to any of his men. I hated it. I really, really hated it. If there was one thing I wanted to be, it was my own person.
“Why are we here?” Zander’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I was slow to gaze at him instead of the dancing crowd below.
“We’re here because I want to be here,” I said, stopping myself from telling him that he had not been invited tonight. Couldn’t forget that bit of information.
“Yeah, but why? This doesn’t really seem like your kind of place.”
That made my blood boil a bit. “What would you know about it? You don’t know me, Zander.” I came off sounding bitchier than I intended, but oh, well. If tonight would’ve gone as planned, I wouldn’t even be talking to him right now.
“No,” he said, his voice so soft I could hardly hear him over the pounding music, “I guess I don’t.” I was seconds from telling him something smart and witty, but what he said next caused anything else I could’ve said to die in the back of my throat: “But I want to.”
I stared at him. I stared at him without blinking for a good long while, wondering if I’d heard him right. And then I wondered what kind of game he was playing, if he thought he could smooth-talk his way into my pants tonight or something. He’d come out sad and depressed, if that was his goal.
I supposed I could’ve said something, could’ve said anything to him, but what I chose to do was push off the railing and walk away. I didn’t say a single word, leaving Zander to follow me while asking me what was wrong. My mouth remained firmly shut, even as I marched toward the doors to the club.
Back outside, where the air was much cooler and didn’t smell like a hundred bodies all mashed together in such a small space.
Zander leaped in front of me, stopping me from storming further away. “What’s wrong? Did I say something? Look, I didn’t mean—”
“Cut the crap,” I told him, setting both hands on my hips. “You’re a Santos man. You work for my father. You’re probably used to girls falling over themselves, tripping over their own feet, all to try to get at you and what I’m sure is a very average sized-dick. You managed to work your way up fast, helping out my father at every turn, and now you want to see what the big deal is about his daughter. Everyone says she’s a stone-cold bitch who doesn’t let any guy get close enough to touch her, let alone fuck her, but—”
Now it was his turn to interrupt, “Whoa, hey. That’s not—that’s not what I was saying. Not at all. You got me all wrong, Giselle. I’m not like that. Some of the others might be, yeah, but I’m not.”
